Sundogs
by High Echo
Summary: Her world doesn't accept what she is: a witch. And that's fine. More than just fine. She has Harry and Harry has her. They'll get by somehow or die trying. AU spiritual connection. Not your usual take on soul bonds. Long distance relationship prompt.
1. A Nag Mar

Words of the Wise

A Sceptic's Negative

.

SUNDOGS

* * *

 _I feel like I've grown up a bit. I'm a bit more confident, and I've been reading more, and I've had a little more time to myself. I went on this writing trip to gather my thoughts about where and who I am in this world, and why we're all here._

-Imogen Heap

* * *

"It's your birthday, honey," the older woman took the initiative tentatively. She had a wrapped bulk in her hands.

"It is. Did you bring me more books?" Hermione eyed the distinctly shapely object, which resembled more a lump than a book in all truthfulness.

Any observer would identify them both as mother and daughter. Save for the haggard look the little girl sported and the smart clothes the older woman wore, both of them possessed the same untameable hair and skin complexion. Their eye colours were significantly different, the little girl's a shade of cinnamon that was unmatched by the other woman's dull brown, but other than that they resembled each other in ways only blood could.

For a moment, they both stared at each other. Awkwardness hung thick in the air and they both knew it. This was a monthly ritual neither of them looked forward to, but it was to be repeated over and over like a broken record.

Her mother's smile was just the tiniest bit forced, but Hermione caught the strain in her expression with ease. Her young face, as always, was irresponsive in the presence of pity.

"I'm afraid I couldn't bring you any, honey. The doctors keep telling me that you're always reading by yourself, so they suggested something else for your birthday. Like a rag doll or a teddy bear- which is always good, for a change," she said.

Slowly, the older woman teared up the decorative paper and offered her a plain black bear with beady green eyes to match.

"Oh," Hermione muttered, taking the thing with her dainty hands. She stared at it with glazed eyes for a moment too long, causing a spike of fear from her mother.

"So!" the older woman spoke in a hurried hush, "How was your day? Did your father come by earlier today? He told me he'd visit you as well. Maybe leave you another present…" she hinted at not so subtly, with hope shining in her eyes.

"He didn't, Mom," Hermione dutifully reported, not bothering with the delusions of a fully functional family. She couldn't bring herself to care about the other's disillusioned visage, even if it was more for her sake than anything else. "It's been a long time since I last saw him… I don't really know when was the last time he came here. And to be honest, even if he did come to see me, we wouldn't know what to talk about. He's not being too thoughtful with me, but at least that spares me the awkwardness…" She shook her head. Her mother looked too shocked at her confession to intervene and offer false reassurances. "Time is a funny thing in here... It's not every day that I turn thirteen…" The last part was more for herself than anything else. Regardless, her mother caught wind of it, if the slight downturn of her lips was indication of anything.

"The letter?" Hermione almost didn't catch the murmur.

"Hogwarts," she affirmed with a firm nod. Her present was already forgotten, discarded neatly by the side of her little hands on the table.

"I see…" Her mother looked none too cheerful about breaching this particular topic with her. "So you're a witch now, honey?"

"I always was. This should have been my second year."

Her mom grimaced, "Yes, yes- well, you were always kind of special…"

"Mom…"

"Your imagination does tend to go overboard sometimes, sweetie. A school where they teach you how to use magic… You can't deny that's a little-"

"Mom," Hermione sighed wearily, "Harry's gone back to that place."

A long intake of breath.

"Harry, dear?" the woman asked. That dreaded name. Not hidden enough behind those wavering words was the sceptic at heart that her mother always was.

"Yes!" the eleven-year-old snapped. "Do not think that I don't resent your attitude- as you still refuse to see him as little more than a mere hallucination of mine!"

Her mother physically recoiled. "Where did you learn that word, sweetie?" she asked.

Hermione sighed, "I hear the doctors talking all the time, Mom. Sooner or later, I was going to pick up on their terms or catch on the reason why I'm always kept behind closed doors. It's so frustrating here! Everyone appears to think I'll blow a gasket for one reason or another… But my mind is perfectly fine, I'll have you know!"

Bibliomania was an adept diagnosis of her behaviour, with her notorious obsession over knowledge and whatnot. The smell of new and old books was like a siren's song to her senses even when she had no use for plain childish stories. Schizophrenia? Not so much. Hermione rather doubted her unsociable behaviour was enough of a reason for her a semi-permanent stay in the children's ward, so this speculated schizophrenia of hers was what kept her there.

"Hermione," her mother choked, "you're sick, do you understand?"

"Not really, but," Hermione turned her head away from her, "I've given up on trying to make you understand."

As she spoke, she urged her birthday present to float and it responded just as pliably as everything else she came into contact with. It rose and hovered inches away from her mother's face. Hermione's will made the small bear move one of its fingerless limbs and brush it across the tip of her nose.

Her mother didn't start or give her any sign that would indicate she was aware of the mystical feat in full display in front of her. She merely scratched her itchy nose with a sorrowful sigh.

"Hermione…"

The older woman reached to grab a hold of her daughter's hands. Hermione let her reluctantly, appreciating the contact even if it came from the one person who unknowingly continued to be the source of her anguish with her constant denial. Her touch was personal, unlike the nurses', and that made it special.

"I hate it here," Hermione trembled.

Heedless to their joint frustration and fears, her animated teddy bear started gliding in circles above their heads, seemingly engaging in a jubilant dance with the air.

"Hermione, sweetie… I'm not giving up on you. Never, you hear me? Look at me, sweetie," she turned her head gingerly. "You are very dear to me, flaws and everything. Your mind… is not an issue. You're my little girl, always. It doesn't matter if you see things no else can see or if this Harry person is always with you and whispering things into your ears. I love you and you'd do me a great favour if you always keep that in mind."

Gazing into those eyes, Hermione bit her lip and nodded. She didn't have the heart to tell her that she had forgotten her name, that she didn't know how her biological father looked like and much less remember how happy they had been when they only played along with her 'delusions'. Little things like that slipped her mind more often than not, as they were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

As depressing as this was, she knew how this story ended. Her mother was already round around the waist. Whether or not she had remarried or she was seeing someone in secret didn't matter; she had another life underway and she would probably settle with another family soon. It was painfully obvious that her parents weren't happy together and they certainly weren't proud of the role she played in their lives. Just like what happened with her biological father, eventually her mother would favour whoever came next into her life and she would be left behind.

That didn't mean that it didn't hurt.

"Honey?"

"I love you too, Mom," she breathed softly.

Her mother beamed, the corner of her eyes wrinkling as she smiled.

"Well, now you'll have to excuse me. I suddenly have the urge to go to the bathroom; it'll be just for a moment, sweetie," she said, taking her cue to stand up, carefully avoiding bumping her girth with the objects around her. "I swear I didn't take so many breaks when I was pregnant with you. This is quickly getting out of hand... I'll be back in a moment, yes?"

"Sure." In the meanwhile, she'd lose herself in her thoughts like she always did.

But her mother didn't come back, or if she did, Hermione didn't notice her.


	2. Noise Tow

The Child Called 'It'

Never Mind His Name

.

SUNDOGS

* * *

 _"I ...understand how a parent might hit a child- it's because you can look into their eyes and see a reflection of yourself that you wish you hadn't."_

― Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

* * *

Harry didn't think he was a bad boy. He wasn't, not truly, but his family always had the final word when it came to judge his culpability even on the simplest of affairs, and everyone knew by now how that ended.

Unfair as it was, Uncle Vernon had gotten mad at him for watering the flower bank a little too much this time. It had been an honest mistake from his part, a slip that had gotten him thrown into his cupboard by his uncle in an exemplary fit of fury.

Poor Harry couldn't do anything except letting himself be dragged and wait for his guardians to release anew.

His left arm burned uncomfortably, making him moan pitifully into his pillow. He was sure that if the cupboard had had more artificial light seeping through the cracks he would have seen the bruises marring his sickly skin.

The boy's stomach rumbled. He was hungry, but undoubtedly not getting any food today.

Resigned to his fate, Harry Potter ignored the shrilly creaks of his bed as he tried to find a more comfortable position to spend the rest of the day (and night) in. Experience dictated he would be allowed to cook breakfast the next morning and, with luck, he'd be able to slip something into his pockets for him to eat later.

Hopefully, they'd ask for bacon tomorrow. The need of something filling consumed him and his thoughts.

In a rare swell of bitterness, Harry imagined what their reactions would be to his death. The Dursleys wouldn't want to deal with his starved corpse, he concluded, although it would serve them right.

Madly, he contemplated the afterlife. And when that grew tedious, he focused on other issues.

Because that was all he had left: his thoughts; the mind was still his, even when his freedom had long been horribly compromised by his relatives.

He was still uncomfortable and much too tense for sleep. Turning in what had to be the sixth time in a row, a small cracked hand mirror greeted him on the other side. It took him by surprise, as it hadn't been there the last time he looked at the wall.

Like any other mirrors its size- the kind Aunt Petunia owned and hid inside her pockets for quick inspections before guests came into the house-, it was small and round and sitting innocuously against the wall. Reflected, there was only one eye, but, strangely, it didn't match the green of his iris. Harry gasped quietly when saw it blink without any of his prompting.

"Hello?"

Barely audible, like a breeze instead of a whisper, Harry's ears picked up on the small voice talking to him through the mirror. Timid, but unmistakably that of a girl.

"Hullo," he croaked. Harry flushed in embarrassment at the sound of his voice breaking and inwardly yearned for a glass of water.

"You don't look so good," the voice- girl- said matter-of-factly. The vision in the mirror moved completely on its own, eye making way for her lips and then arm when she went to fetch something. "Here- let me see if-" Harry caught only a glimpse of the mirror girl's pockets before something _surged_ from the reflective surface. Harry gawked and stared at the offensive thing sticking out of there.

But the thing in question was actually a hand and it wasn't offensive at all in reality. Cupped on the centre of the palm was something plastic, a tiny wrapper which just had to be a sweet.

 _Mars._

"Well?" There was underlying impatience in her voice now. "Are you going to take it or not? I can't let my mother see me holding this- she'd have a fit! Dentists are really wary of sweets, you know? They say they rot your teeth, but I for one say that they are overdoing it… Although even if that were true, I consider myself lucky to have a father who goes out of the way to buy me some of these things, being a dentist himself as well! They are absolutely splendid to have after super… or when you're so obviously hungry!"

 _Like you!_

The boy sputtered incoherently, but fearfully picked the sweet with his fingers acting as tweezers.

The package felt real and when he opened the bar it smelled real as well.

His stomach rumbled viciously.

Harry shuddered, not understanding if he had simply gone mad or he was just that lucky and he was in fact holding one of the chocolates he had seen Dudley feast upon every time he was in the vicinity.

"There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

"Are you real?" he blurted, pushing back his glasses to get a much better view of the mirror. In his hands the light weight of the candy served as a mild reassurance in face of his questionable sanity.

"Of course I'm real! How can I not be? Better yet, how are you in my room? And on my bed? I can't touch you!" The hand reached for him and instinctively, he moved away. He heard the girl sigh in frustration, then a startled gasp. "Are you one of those thugs they mention in the telly? I'll have you know that my daddy was in the marine and he'll get you arrested in no time if you try anything!" Her voice had a different edge now, more fearful instead of the simple curiosity from before.

"No! That's not it at all!" he let out a strangled yell. Harry immediately regretted it a few seconds later when he heard a stampede go his way.

There was only one person with a stride like that. Vernon thumped on his door loudly, not even bothering to open the door and instead choosing to peer through the shutters in his tiny window to glare at him. The poor boy trembled at the pure loathing that tenanted those two unblinking orbs.

Swallowing thickly, Harry put his body in front of the mirror in order to shield the object from view. The lone mini bar the girl gave him was held tightly inside his fists.

"What on earth are you doing now, boy?" the man bellowed. Harry desperately fought to stay steady under the other's scrutiny, but he still shook like a wavering leaf.

"I-I had a nightmare, Uncle Vernon," Harry hurried to say.

Suspicion shone clear in his uncle's eyes. "If you make one more sound and I catch wind of it, I'll do my best to show you what discipline is; do you get me, boy? I don't want to hear even a mumble coming from you!"

"Y-yes."

"Louder!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon!"

"Good," Vernon Dursley glared one more time and closed the shutters tight, leaving Harry in the dark listening to the retreating steps of his relative.

As if eager to go against his uncle's demands, Harry's entire being just wanted to scream out of frustration. His self-preservation instincts were the only thing preventing him from doing so.

"Who was that?" the girl muttered softly from behind him. "They were really loud and mean…"

"You heard my uncle!" he hissed quietly back to her. With the poor light, it was difficult to see which part of her was on the mirror now. "I can't talk and you shouldn't as well! I don't why you're here, but please… Please be quiet!"

A moment of silence, but then…

"What's your name?" she said, not more than a whisper.

"What?" Harry gaped in disbelief.

"Your name," the girl said calmly. "It's obvious that you're in trouble. I'd like to at least know your name and where you live before I come to save you."

"S-save me?"

"Yes! I'm Hermione Granger. I was named after one of Shakespeare's characters in his play The Winter's Tale, more specifically the Queen of Sicily. Or at least that's what my parents told me. I still have to check with my books. Now, please… I can't help you if you don't tell me anything!"

"How could you help me?" he stuttered, hoping despite knowing that it was too good to be true, "You sound like more or less my age! And you're in a mirror!"

"A mirror?"

Harry sputtered, "How could you not know?"

"Interesting," the girl mused. "You yourself are somewhat strange looking."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he wailed.

"I'd tell you, but first I want your name."

Against his will, Harry mumbled his response, "Harry Potter… I wouldn't know if I'm named after anyone… Sorry."

"That's all right," Hermione said. There was a faint scratching sound in the background. "Now, your address is…?"

"Err…" Harry pinked slightly. "I don't know," he said in a small voice, "Some place in Surrey, I reckon?" He couldn't muster any confidence in his words.

"Surrey…? That's all right, Harry," she reassured again and the sounds in the background stopped. "The police can do a wide search, I'm sure... Maybe they'll be able to find you if they try enough?"

"I hope so," he said in a small voice, "I'm sick and tired of sleeping inside a cupboard. They are horrible people, Hermione, especially my uncle. He's-" he swallowed, "He's the worst out of all of them."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. In fact, the silence stretched a little too long for comfort and for the first time since their unusual encounter, Harry began to fear that she had left him alone to his misery. Despite having known her only for a few minutes, the idea was utterly terrifying to him.

"Do you go to school?"

Harry sighed in relief and shook his head negatively, "We're in summer, Hermione. No one goes to school these days…" he frowned, "At least, no one that I know of."

"I meant to ask you the name of the school you go to," Hermione reprimanded him gently. "Maybe that'll give us an idea of where to look."

Harry bit his lip and answered her.

"That should be enough, I think," she said, an undertone of satisfaction. "Wait for me a bit; I'll get you something to eat. I'll contact the police in the meantime."

Harry couldn't care less if he was crying. "Thank you!" he breathed.


	3. Doll Out Wry

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Disgrace The Naive

.

SUNDOGS

* * *

 _"I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?"_

― John Lennon

* * *

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry said, "I should have kept my mouth shut."

Nothing.

He could see her reflection, but she wasn't looking at him. Or more like she was refusing to look at him.

Harry hugged his legs against his chest and tried not to cry.

There hadn't been a single siren around to be heard and the Dursleys hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, which meant that they hadn't had any excuse to take their anger out on him. But, on the other hand, he had gotten his friend into trouble with the local authorities. Her parents had been livid when the police had swept in and informed them of their little girl's 'prank'. So, except for the rare privilege of being fed properly for the first time in months, this felt more like a defeat than a victory.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he repeated.

Pointedly, the little girl on the other side of the mirror didn't reply.

There was no place with the name of Surrey.

 _Liar._


	4. Epic Louse

Dear Me

Stay Forever?

.

SUNDOGS

* * *

 _"The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."_

-Robert Frost

* * *

"They think you're just an imaginary friend, Harry!" fumed Hermione.

Harry sighed dejectedly. Away from his peers or any meddlesome eavesdroppers, he didn't hesitate to address the fiery girl. This time he wasn't using any cracked surfaces or hand mirrors, so instead of his own reflection he saw his friend looking back at him, from head to toe.

It was quite a refreshing experience.

Although it was a small price to pay if it meant he could talk to Hermione, it had taken time to get used to the sudden loss of his reflection. It had taken to reappear as soon as the connection between the two was cut off, but that didn't make matters less bizarre. Just to be on the safe side, he still checked daily to see if his shadow was still his when he and Hermione met and thankfully it had yet to spurt a fluffy mane of hair on top of its head.

Thank goodness for small miracles.

Harry kicked a pebble.

" _They_ ," he muttered rebelliously, "think I just lost it. It's not a great loss as far as they are concerned."

"That's rubbish!" Hermione snapped angrily. "You're the sanest person I've ever met! Everyone else just ignores me when I make plants grow or things start changing out of nowhere. There was this time when I talked to the snakes in the zoo and my mother didn't even bat an eyelash after I begged one of them to come closer! I could have made the snake dance in front of her eyes and she'd still doubt everything I say!"

"When was this?" Harry tried to keep the envy at bay.

"Yesterday," she said sullenly. "And I still don't understand how we can communicate like this!"

It was strange, Harry acknowledged, the way they could get in touch with each other. Whilst Hermione saw him without any help of reflective surfaces around her, Harry couldn't possibly hope to speak with her without a mirror in the vicinity. And even when Hermione couldn't talk to him, she still sometimes saw him parading around her place all the same.

In all honesty, both of them thought it was a bit creepy, thinking back on the times when she had to go to the bathroom with him making a sudden appearance. It had led to many embarrassing situations none of them was eager to go through again. The only redeeming fact in his favour was that he couldn't control the timing of his goings and comings. In fact, he'd go as far as to say that was the only reason why he hadn't had his head cut off during those times when he had surprised her showering.

Her very own ghostly peeping tom, Hermione had jested one day to his everlasting horror and shame.

And there was another thing to take into account: his friend was able to give him things through their connection, but they soon found out that he was unable of offering anything in return. Anything they tried ended with a mirror being smashed and him getting cut in numerous places. After last time, when he had almost lost one of his eyes to the scattered remains of the last reflective item he had cracked- despite the protection his glasses offered him-, they hadn't dared to try again.

Harry cringed as an idea began to form in his mind. "Maybe…" he began softly. He kicked another pebble as he scowled darkly, "maybe we shouldn't talk to each other. You know, like ignore one another and then it'll eventually… I don't know… go away?"

Hermione huffed, "I don't think that's how this works, Harry. And I doubt I could even try to ignore you. This may sound stupid to you, but you're literally everywhere. I don't know if I could ignore you if I sensed that you were in trouble." Of course that her help was rather limited, but it was the intent what mattered.

Harry felt a little bit happier on the inside.

"People have been said to have an out of body experience when they come into contact with hallucinogenic drugs or via hypnosis, but that doesn't really apply to us, does it?" Hermione mused half-heartedly and allowed her body to slide down to the floor. Her feet slipped out of view as she stretched.

"I never used drugs in my life," Harry admitted dryly, though that was majorly because his relatives refused to bring him into a hospital.

Hermione scoffed, "Vaccines count as drugs, Harry."

"I don't go to hospitals, remember? The Dursleys won't take me there unless it is a matter of life and death- oh, right! Thinking back, not even then."

"Never?" Hermione was horrified. "Those monsters!"

The boy winced at her expression, "C'mon, Hermione. It's not that important…"

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, "You need to take them! A visit to the hospital just went from an urgent need to top priority! You can get seriously ill without those!"

"But what about Vernon and my stay at the Dursleys?" Harry pleaded, vaguely in a panic at the thought of the consequent beatings at the hands of his uncle when _that_ got out.

"FORGET THAT LOT!" Hermione shrieked, "Why are you defending them, Harry? They treat you so bad…! You're always suffering because of them!"

And it was true. They weren't the most caring of guardians in the world by any stretch of the imagination, but they were the only ones Harry was in the know about. Without them…

"An orphanage is much better than an abusive home, you know?" Hermione interjected, looking on the verge of tears.

Harry swallowed thickly, but allowed his mind to wander on the possibilities… And they were many: hope and uneasiness went hand in hand in times of uncertainty.

As he pondered the advantages and pitfalls of getting rid of the Dursleys, he didn't notice how Hermione disappeared from sight, leaving his reflection back in her place and no one around for him to bounce ideas with.


	5. Estrangled Ran Rants

_Tear a Hole_

 _Green-eyed Monster_

 _._

SUNDOGS

* * *

 _"He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying."_

― Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

Harry was the first to mention the distinct possibility that magic _just might_ be real, but it was Hermione who had explored the concept of both of them being mages or wizards to a deeper degree.

The first clue was Dedalus Diggle.

"He bowed to you?" she asked, leaning forward with intrigue.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, not nearly as enthusiastic, but that might be because of his imposed imprisonment in his cupboard. "Aunt Petunia clearly didn't want me to talk to him. She started dragging me out of the shop before the man could finish the sentence."

"And what did he say?"

"He knew me," Harry pressed a hand against his face and rubbed his temples. "He knew my name and how I looked. One look at my scar and he immediately knew who he was talking to… And he dressed so weird! Aunt Petunia kept repeating how uncouth his choice in clothes was."

"Like a tunic or a robe?"

"Yeah! How did you know?" he asked, surprised by her accurate description.

Hermione flushed, "I saw him," she admitted, "I couldn't hear what he was saying; I could only see him gesturing and moving his lips. Oh, he looked very excited to see you, like he was meeting a celebrity in the flesh!"

"An odd bloke, that's for sure." But he was mightily unsettled by this new revelation. Hermione hadn't been able to see anyone but him when they met. What if she started talking with other people and forgot about him? Harry didn't want to contemplate it, but he wasn't known for keeping his friends, now was he? They always went away for some reason or another.

"So? What else did he say?" Hermione urged him.

"He asked if I received a letter from Hogwarts, thinking that I was the right age or some nonsense like that," he answered with understandable reluctance.

The younger boy watched with mild trepidation as Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement. Why, he wouldn't know. The man's utterings were too out of context for him to begin to decipher what that could have meant.

"Harry!" Hermione jumped excitedly. "Don't you get it? I can _see_ him! The only person I can see apart from him is you! There's a strong chance of him being like us!"

"Joy," Harry mumbled, "Magical, really."

"Oh, none of that," the young witch reproached him, "Let's see… He's familiar with you and he did greet you like an old friend… No, more than that, I said verbatim: 'like he was meeting a celebrity in the flesh'. And that _is_ right: I could clearly see the admiration and the eagerness in his gestures, so this could mean that there's a community that reveres you just as much as him!"

"Uh, Hermione," Harry started, enunciating each word carefully, utterly bemused by this point. "I didn't do anything in my life that warrants anything close to that, remember? The Dursleys… I've never… I'm the black sheep of the neighbourhood, for goodness' sake! I'm always alone because everyone expects me to be violent!" His only friend was a girl in a mirror. How pathetic was that?

"Oh, that's right," Hermione deflated, only to perk up again. "But he _did_ mention a letter and Hogwarts, whatever that is. It has to be some kind of social convention of our kind, perhaps? Like a place to meet or gather when you reach a certain age? A letter sounds awfully like an invitation or a summons..."

"You might be grasping at straws now," he warned, although he wasn't sure in the least if that was the case.

Hermione huffed, mumbling something about mysteries and close-minded people.

Harry could see her in the future trying to figure out everything. He didn't know why she bothered. The information on this was abysmal at best and her efforts were bound to be futile.


End file.
